Soul Swallower – new series WIP

I think that’s the name of the series. I like the alliteration anyway. Better than Soul Gulper.

Perhaps you remember the character Raze from one of Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompts. Well, he’s back with a series of his own.

I don’t have too much to share yet, but here’s a brief peek at the act of swallowing a soul:

***

When the others retired, Raze sat by the hearth, its flames dwindling to scarlet embers. His grief for Briyon unearthed old ghosts, his mother among them, an ageless portrait suspended in the gallery of his mind. Not so his memories of Mirelle. Those lingered with infinite fluidity, entangled with visions of the past and dreams of a future that would never be.

Six years had shuffled by since her death, five since he’d joined Briyon at the freehold, and no lever had proved long or strong enough to pry her from his heart. Loneliness invaded his body so deeply it punched the breath from his lungs and sapped the strength from his back, and no hoping and wishing could bring those people back. A twenty-one he was master of the freehold, a tired soul, angry at a world he couldn’t control.

He turned the pendant over in his hand, keenly aware of its delicate beauty. The white soulstone had transformed, no longer solid but translucent with pale wisps of color swirling like morning mist. Copper wire the breadth of a strand of hair coiled around it, holding a round sliver of peridot in place with a final twist of two tiny leaves. It glowed with a soft light, indicating the presence of a soul. A soul he loved.

With great care, he unhooked the copper leaves, unwound the wire, and removed the green gem that capped a small hole. Inside, an iridescent sphere resembling a pearl shone with a brilliance that startled him. Were all souls so bright? He didn’t know; this was his first. He rolled it into his hand. Would he swallow it? Did he want what Briyon offered? Was there anything to fear?

The pearl of light glowed in his palm, offering no insight. He placed it back into the pendant. No need to choose; no decision pressed him to act with haste. The round gem refitted, he coiled the wires, paused, and then uncoiled them. In one fluid motion, he uncapped the pendant, tipped the sphere into his mouth, and swallowed.

A rush of heat streamed from his belly, up through his heart into his head and down his limbs to his fingers and toes. His body trembled, the sensation alien, but not frightening, and not long lived, for it subsided as quickly as it had overtaken him. Eyes closed, he accepted Briyon’s soul. In the quiet of night, he exhaled a long breath, crept to bed, and dreamed another man’s dreams.

Sight #Writephoto

The enemy showed up at the wall when autumn’s copper leaves twirled from brittle twigs and food ran shy. I slid my rifle from the borehole and dug in my pocket for a wedge of bread and wafer of dried fish I’d saved from my rations. The offering all I could spare, I reached into the cold tunnel, and my fingers lingered on the girl’s hand. She smiled, her pupils like glistening pebbles in pools of bronze.

Sisi buka nash corazones, ee?” she said in a language I couldn’t understand.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered. “You should go now.”

But I didn’t let go. She tilted her head, eyes crinkled in question. And as she did each day, she peered through the hole, and her voice lured me from the desolation of war. She told me stories in her strange tongue, soft words sharing blushed secrets and dreams. Her laughter rippled toward me, and at times, tears tumbled into the stream of words. She wiped her cheeks on the worn sleeves of her ruby dress, and I stroked her hand, yearning for her warmth through that dark stone hole.

I didn’t shoot her.

With the first snows, our officers issued fresh orders and we cleaned our rifles. I rested the barrel in the hole and waited. Bullets weighted my pocket beside the bread, and my fingers froze. She came with the others across the muted green of a beautiful and barren world.

“Ready!” my captain shouted.

Rifles clacked against the stones along the line. I raised my gun and sighted. Her red dress shone like a brand.

“Aim!”

She danced across the broken land, her eyes smiling into the black hole between us.

“Fire!”

I shot wide and high. She halted and stared at my borehole while those around her screamed and fled. Weapons barked like feral dogs; light flickered in the pocked blackness as we shrieked. The torrent of noise swamped my senses, and I shot through the hole until my rifle ran dry, shouting at her to run as tears blistered my eyes. Blood bloomed on her dress. She staggered backwards and pitched to the ground, snowflakes chasing her down.

Through the bitter winter, I stood vigil at my borehole, watching crows feast and snow frost the red silhouette of her body. In the spring, the last tatters of her ruby dress fluttered away in the wind, and I watched over her bones.

I don’t think I shot her, but she was just as dead.

***

Thanks to Sue Vincent for the wonderful prompt, despite where it took me.

***

Forgive me for this very rough translation of the girl’s words:
We (Swahili)
open (Indonesian)
our (Russian)
hearts (Spanish)
yes? (Arabic)

Sunday Blog Share: Danny Extorts Andrew…

Since I began blogging, I’ve been an avid fan of Danny the Dog, who lived on a houseboat with Andrew, his human. Danny was a writer, adventurer, and source of witty entertainment for years. On Tuesday the 18th, Danny passed on after a much-loved life. My condolences to his friend, Andrew. I know Danny will be sorely missed. This was his last post. Read and smile.

Danny Extorts Andrew

Danny the Dog

Good morning, everybody. It is I, your favorite dog, Danny the Dog. At least I’m your favorite dog that pens a monthly epistle here on Chris’ blog.

I write about my life, my loves, and my losses—although I do not lose very often. Today, I’m here to tell you about one of my wins. And of course, it’s a win against my arch-nemesis, Andrew, my human.

For those of you who follow my exploits on a monthly basis, you know of my love of turkey slices. How every morning when Andrew and I come in from our walk, he’ll give me a few slices. And you’ll also know that we live on a boat. I only mention that because it has a bearing on my story.

So here’s the set-up. Boats have cockpits—it’s the place you steer from. There are also seats and/or benches where people (or dogs) can sit around and enjoy being out on the water. Me, I don’t get it. I love air-conditioning and all it entails…

Continue Reading: Danny Extorts Andrew…

 

❤ A small note: The link above is not to Andrew’s site. If you wish to visit, read his stories, and take in his photos, Andrew’s blog is Here.

Sunday Blog Share: 30 Signs That Your Significant Other Is Clearly Trying to Drive You Insane

Time for a little more hilarity from Brian. I think he’s spying on my life.
Comments are closed here on Sundays. Click over to Bonnywood Manor to continue laughing.

30 Signs That Your Significant Other Is Clearly Trying to Drive You Insane

by Brian Lageose

Note: Change the pronouns around however you like to fit the dynamics of your own relationship. This is an equal-opportunity whine-fest, and all variations of love are fully embraced here at Bonnywood Manor.

1. He changes the car radio right in the middle of a song that you really, really like. (“I can’t stand that song,” he mutters, apparently forgetting that you danced to this very song at your wedding. Twice.)

2. She stares at the restaurant menu for 37 minutes and still cannot find anything that remotely interests her. Yet she wanted to go to this place. (“Madge says they have the best seafood here,” she had chirped in the car on the way over, apparently forgetting that Madge was convicted of fraud in the 90s. Twice.)

3. He doesn’t understand that inviting his friends over for dinner at the very last minute might be an issue in any way. (“Can’t you just kill another chicken?” he asks, wrongly assuming that humor will defuse the tense situation. It does not. But it does give you an idea of what else might be served for dinner.)

4. She makes fun of the fact that you can’t parallel park. (“Honey, the dog could do a better job. Hop out and I’ll scooch over.”)

5. He eats the last yogurt in the fridge that you picked out and leaves the crappy one that he chose. (“They all really taste the same, don’t they?” No. No, they do not. Never speak such blasphemy again.)

6. She insists on going down every single aisle in the grocery store. (And she insists on sniffing every single candle in the home décor aisle, even the candles that you know damn well she sniffed last week. They still have her nose-print in the dust on top of them.)

7. He doesn’t have a plan in the grocery store, and he runs from one end of the store to the other at least 26 times. (On his fourth jaunt down the dog-food aisle, a bell rings and there is a brief ceremony wherein the store manager hands him a frequent-flier award.)

8. She thinks it’s okay to answer her phone right in the middle of the Immunity Challenge on “Survivor”. (“Oh, hey girl!… No, we’re not doing anything… Joe is watching some beach sport thing… Say, honey, could you turn the sound down a little bit? This is an important call. Thanks!…. So, girl, tell me more about these sandals you just got… uh huh… really?…”)

9. He lunges to close a window on his computer screen every time you walk into the home office.

10. She starts any conversation with the phrase “I was talking to Mom the other day…”

11. He starts any conversation with the phrase “Why are you dressed up like we’re going somewhere?”

12. She abruptly ends a conversation by saying “whatever you think is best” and then leaving the room.

13. He makes that soul-killing sucking noise trying to get food out of his teeth. It takes all of your strength to not whip out the shop-vac and shove it in his mouth.

14. She sneezes like somebody stepped on an anemic mouse.

15. He sneezes like an elephant getting a rectal probe, and then he insists on following it up by hollering “DAMN!” like he has no idea what just happened to him.

(Continue onward: 30 Signs That Your Significant Other Is Clearly Trying to Drive You Insane)

Sunday Blog Share: Equality

A stark poem about the pain of alienation.
Beautiful and raw, it reads like a plea.
True equality won’t come with a law but with an open heart.

Equality

by Candice of The Feathered Sleep

 

The day I came out … all my girlfriends took one step apart

it can’t be they collectively agreed

she’s too pretty, she’s too feminine, she’s not a dyke she’s one of us

didn’t she enjoy sex with that boy in the garden? you know that party the one where

they turned the lights on and saw them straddled in tall grass?

What happened? Did you get raped? Was it because you grew up without a mom?

What happened? Did you get bewitched? Is she a sorceress? A genie? A devil?

Soon after the invites to go out on the girls-nights

dwindled

the newly minted lesbian sat alone with her shadows and her eye make up

growing stale in their plastic boxes

virile boys wondered why they hadn’t kept her straight

cleavage girls wondered if she had looked at them in the shower the wrong way

why didn’t you try it on with me? her bi-curious mates inquired, offended

as if loving a girl was loving the entirety of the species and jumping…

(Continue Reading: Equality)

Peace – #Writephoto

In the end, I returned to the sanitarium. This time by choice and without the reams of commitment papers, the hustling of orderlies, and motherly coaxing of nurses. The baby-blue walls and polished linoleum shine with familiarity, and the bars feel less restrictive than I remember.

I wander the halls with a certain air of freedom, considering my state. The same doctors make rounds in their cliched white coats and spectacles. Clipboards hang on hooks bolted to metal doors, and fluorescent lights hum in group-counseling like a chorus of wasps.

Despite the harsh glare of the world inside these walls, I’d found healing here. It came with compassion, by listening to stories with a crack in my heart, by risking a touch, a tear, an act of kindness. Not toward me, but toward others. Healing wasn’t about banishing my demons, a goal that had led me astray for years. It was grounded in the audacity to love, and I’d found my courage like a tidal wave.

I pass through the locked doors into the yard, and no one minds. The heat doesn’t bother me anymore, nor the cold, though today’s a brilliant day. At the rear of the grounds, a leafy glade snuggles up against the stone wall separating us from a less forgiving world. It once was a place for smoking or sex, but cameras curbed that urge, and now a bench offers a place for solitude and reflection.

This place suits me, and I plan to stay. I could travel anywhere in the world I wish, but my calling is here. Alone on the bench, I wait.

A woman heads my way. She’s thin, her skin sallow and eyes so tired they appear bruised. One arm wraps her body, and fingers twitch on chapped lips. She doesn’t see me, but I witness a cloud of despair encasing her like a thunderhead and a soul as bright as the sun. She sits beside me, and I enclose her in my arms, sate her need for love and peace. I open a crack in her heart.

In doing so, I receive more than I give and begin to heal my last regret—that my life’s purpose manifested with such sublime clarity only upon my death.

**

Thanks to Sue Vincent for another wonderful Thursday Photo Prompt.

Sunday Blog Share: Dreamer

A tender and beautiful poem for the morning.

Dreamer

by Sue Vincent

 

If I could dream a dawn
Into existence
It would wear your face
In its sleep.
If I could dream a morning
It would wake to your breath,
A pillowed silhouette against the dawn,
The space between filled with warmth
And the tenderness
Of tangled legs…

(Continue Reading: Dreamer)